Flying a DC-3 on a Perfect Summer Morning - Life Doesn’t Get Any Better!
It’s been eight or nine years now but the memory of that flight still drifts through my head like it was yesterday. It was June in New England. The sky was bright blue highlighted with small puffs of cumulus clouds and the visibility was about a million miles. The temperature was in the comfortable mid 70s with virtually no humidity and the wind was pleasantly light and variable. It was a day that defined the perfect day to fly.
For those of us who love to fly, there is no such thing as a mundane flying machine. I have been fortunate to fly many different airplanes from the venerable Cub to some of the heavy iron. Every aircraft has its own unique charms, but some airplanes are just more spectacular than others. Enter the DC-3. Yes, on this perfect day I had the privilege of not only being able to fly, but of flying a DC-3!
Capt. Mike Ferry, Delta Airlines (Ret.) made this opportunity possible. A few years earlier, Mike, an active senior captain walked into my flight school and inquired about getting a flight instructor certificate. Wary of pilots with grey hair and years of bad habits wanting to become CFIs, I asked if he was current as a pilot. After he answered in the affirmative I asked him when he had last flown. He answered that he had flown four days ago. My next question regarded what kind of airplane he had flown and where he had gone. Expecting the answer to involve a Cessna 152 and a trip around the pattern, I was floored when he said that it was in a Boeing 767 and that he had gone from Mexico City to Atlanta and then to Boston. OK, I’d been had. He suckered me with his down home manner and lack of arrogance. Feeling rather stupid, I continued the discussion and learned that Mike had just purchased a DC-3. He needed the CFI certificate so that he could train other pilots to fly it once he had it restored.
Mike enrolled in our CFI program and quickly completed his training and passed his check ride. Meanwhile, he went off and earned a DC-3 type rating. Through the process, Mike and I became good friends. In a matter of a few months, a DC-3 showed up on our ramp at Nashua, NH. This proud bird, along with very many of its sister DC-3s, had started life as a military C-47 at the end of WWII. This bit of flying history had served as an airliner, corporate airplane, and auto parts hauler. It was airworthy, but not very pretty. Mike founded a non-profit corporation to help in restoring the DC-3 and help educate young people about the joys of aviation and the history of the DC-3 in particular. I signed my flight school on as a sponsor of the project.
Over the course of the next year or so, much work was done on the DC-3. Probably not the most significant, but certainly the most obvious was putting the proud bird into the livery of Northeast Airlines. Though now absorbed into Delta Airlines, Northeast Airlines was chosen because it was where Mike started his airline career.
Now that the stage has been set, I will get back to my memorable flight on a perfect flying day. Mike walked into my office about 0900 on a weekday and suggested that we go flying. He didn’t have to say that more than once! Though I had become quite familiar with the DC-3 by now and had ridden as a passenger on numerous occasions, I had never flown in the “front office”. We went through the rather lengthy preflight inspection and found everything to be satisfactory. After we climbed in and secured the main door, we walked up-hill to the flight deck where Mike graciously offered me the left seat. I just knew that I would wake up from this dream at any second.
We ran the checklists and got those magnificent radial engines started and received clearance to taxi. Mike patiently guided me through the fine art of taxiing a big taildragger by knowing when to lock and when to unlock the tailwheel. We managed to get to the run-up area without wiping out any of the parked airplanes. Had Mike not been there, I would have undoubtedly caused the biggest insurance claim in New Hampshire history. Now it was time for the run-up and the rest of the Before Takeoff Checklist. Just as we were at high RPM and cycling the props, the tower called us and almost calmly informed us that our left engine was on fire. More calmly, Mike reached up and retarded the mixture control and asked tower if that looked better. They said that it appeared to be OK now. Mike, in his trademark matter-of-fact way, explained to the controller and to me that when an engine is in auto-rich, it sometimes shoots rather large flames out the exhaust ports. The controller sheepishly apologized for alerting the fire folks and we confidently waved off the two crash trucks that showed up with numerous fire fighters in silver suits. All checklists were completed and we were finally ready to depart.
The tower cleared us for takeoff on runway 32 and I managed to taxi onto the runway and get lined up with surprisingly little help. My newfound confidence was crushed when Mike had to help me with the rudders to stay on the runway during the takeoff roll. I had flown taildraggers and I had flown big airplanes, but I had never flown a big taildragger. Forever humbled, I managed to get airborne and began the flat climb-out characteristic of the DC-3. We departed the pattern with a left turn toward the ultra green and lush countryside of Southern New Hampshire and Northern Massachusetts. We leveled off at 3000 feet and reduced the power to a very low cruise setting. We were in no hurry! Mike suggested that we open the two sliding windows on either side of our crew positions. I must have looked at him like he had lost his mind as I thought of the gale conditions when a Cessna window pops open in flight. He reached over and opened his slider and gave me a knowing look as the decibel level in the cockpit barely increased. I still don’t understand how those marvelous Douglas engineers of the 1930s managed to design windows that can be opened at well over 100 miles per hour and not cause a major hurricane in the airplane. I immediately opened my slider and enjoyed the cool, fresh air of a New England morning in late spring.
We set up a southerly course to put us over the airport at Marlboro, MA where Mike had learned to fly. As we ambled along above the quiet farms and orchards, I noticed that cars were pulling off the country roads and that people were jumping out. After a brief moment of wondering what was the attraction, I realized that it was none other than our magnificent flying machine. At that moment, I truly realized that the Angels of Aviation had blessed me with the gift of aviation and particularly with this moment.
After a couple of low passes at Marlboro, we turned north to return to Nashua. I had done most of the flying to this point. When the DC-3 is not in contact with the surface, it is a docile, very enjoyable airplane to fly. We listened to the ATIS, contacted the tower, and were instructed to enter a left downwind for runway 32. I was once again feeling fairly confident in my abilities as a pilot. Mike talked me through the procedures of slowing down without reducing the power too much. Radial engines become very unhappy when they are being turned by the propeller rather than doing the prop turning for themselves. We ran the before landing checklist and received our landing clearance from the tower as we turned base leg. I rolled out on final perfectly lined up with the runway and a quick check of the windsock confirmed that the light breeze was right down the centerline. I was going to make a perfect landing, or so I thought. My round out was just about perfect and I kissed the runway with the main gear. Am I good or what? The Angels of Aviation must have sensed my undeserved pride and decided that an attitude adjustment was in order. Suddenly and without warning the heading changed about ten degrees to the left. I applied right rudder until I thought my foot would exit through the nose of the airplane. We just kept heading toward the left edge of the runway and airplanes that appeared to be parked way too close! Just as I resigned myself to the fact that I would be solely responsible for destroying this wonderful airplane plus half of the general aviation fleet in southern New Hampshire, the airplane started back toward the centerline. My sigh of relief would have been audible if my entire respiratory system hadn’t been paralyzed. Whew, that was close! But wait! The Aviation Angels wanted to make sure that I would not walk away with any of that residual pride. Now the nose was going toward the right! I was now applying what seemed like way too much left rudder and the nose was still going to the right and the airplane was following it right to the edge of the runway. Well, at least there weren’t any airplanes parked along that side. So, only the runway lights and what little there was remaining of my self-confidence and pride was at stake. Just as before, as I thought departing the runway was imminent, the old airplane seemed to take pity on me and begin to correct itself. By now we were well down the runway and I had been so busy trying to keep the airplane on the runway that I hadn’t given any thought to braking. I knew instinctively that any application of brakes to aid in steering would only compound my problems but the end of the runway was starting to look rather close and personal. About this time, Mike calmly asked, “Want some help?” My not-so-calm reply, about three octaves higher than my normal voice, squeaked out an affirmative response along with the positive exchange of flight controls statement, “your airplane.” I hadn’t forgotten everything about safe flying and CRM. To my relief and also to my dismay, Mike did a little foot dance on the rudders, lowered the tail, and braked nicely to a stop with several hundred feet of runway remaining. It was then that he let me in on the secret of landing a DC-3. His words of wisdom were, “Use twice as much rudder as you think you need, but only for half as long.” As the blood slowly returned to my brain allowing at least some partial brain function, I realized that he was exactly right. I had instinctively kept adding rudder movement as the airplane veered toward the edge of the runway, but I had been keeping it in too long. The result was the airplane performing a maneuver that I shall name S-Turns about a Centerline.
Mike again graciously turned over the flight controls to me and informed the tower that we would like to taxi back for another takeoff and remain in the pattern. He was going to let me attempt a recovery of at least some small part of my dignity. This time, I managed to make a takeoff, circuit of the traffic pattern, and a landing with little more than some coaching. I will admit to being apprehensive just before the wheels made contact but Mike’s advice about twice as much rudder for half the time worked like a charm.
I have had many memorable flights in many different kinds of aircraft over my 46 years of flying. Admittedly, some of those memories are more positive than others. But that flight in the left seat of a DC-3 on a perfect day for flying ranks very near the top of my most positive memories.
-Gene Benson